


The Kindest Thing

by Assthorn



Series: It's Not Fair [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Found Family, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Mild Self Harm, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Reconciliation, Underage Drinking, dicking around Kaer morhen until they Dick Around Kaer Morhen, no beta we die like my hopes for 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assthorn/pseuds/Assthorn
Summary: Jaskier makes it to Kaer Morhen, where there is much healing to be done.Sequel to Farewell Wanderlust. It will make more sense if you read that first.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: It's Not Fair [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804354
Comments: 20
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

_Jaskier_

There were no words for the relief Jaskier felt when the lights of Kaer Morhen came into view. He had trudged up the mountain on foot, following Geralt, Buttercup and Roach, and trying his best not to fall to his death. He succeeded, he supposed, as they waited for the gates to open and entered the keep. Someone clapped Geralt on the shoulder and took the horses; Jaskier wasn’t really paying attention. Instead, he let Geralt shepherd him indoors and Melitele be praised there was a fire.

“Bring him here,” a woman’s voice directed and he found himself sat in front of the fire. Then someone was taking off his clothes and he didn’t mind so much except that he could feel the cool air on his cooler skin. Then he was wrapped up in soft furs and blankets and propped up in front of the fire like a child’s toy at a tea party.

It was fine. This was fine.

Then the blood started coming back to his face, fingers and toes. At first it just tingled, but then it hurt. Jaskier grunted in pain but didn’t complain. He was warm and safe, after all.

He was being unwrapped again and some kind of salve was smoothed over his hands, feet and face. It took away the pain, a little. A cup was brought to his lips and he sipped at some warm broth before being re-wrapped and placed by the fire.

“He’s shivering again. I thought this was supposed to help him?” Geralt said- no, demanded.

“That’s a good sign. If he’s so cold he’s not shivering that’s _bad,_ ” the woman replied.

“What do you mean, bad? Is he going to die?”

“No. He won’t even lose any fingers, though one of his toes is in bad shape. He may yet pull through unscathed.”

“Can’t we give him something?” a third voice, a child’s, asked.

“Just give him sips of water or broth and keep him warm. We’ll put the salve on again in the morning.”

"I'll stay with him," Geralt grunted and then, surprising even the semi-comatose Jaskier, settled into the nest of furs and blankets.

"Can I stay too?" The child asked and, without waiting for the answer, burrowed into the nest as well.

"I'll fetch some more blankets," the woman said.

Jaskier fell asleep.

  
  


***

  
  


Jaskier woke slowly. He ached, that was nothing new. His fingers, toes and face felt very tender, but he could feel them so that was probably a good thing. The best part, though, was the warmth. He could hear the fire crackling nearby, and feel Geralt's warm breath on the back of his neck. That wasn't new either- they had been sleeping cuddled together for warmth since Geralt found him. What was new, however, was a small body tucked up against his chest. He dimly remembered hearing a child last night- guess that wasn't a dream. She had blond hair, which was tickling his nose and he couldn't see much else and didn't care to lift his head. He was warm and comfortable for the first time since he and Geralt had left the little shack and he would stay comfortable for as long as his bladder would allow, which, as it turned out, was not very long.

Geralt woke up as soon as Jaskier stirred, pulling his arms into himself and away from Jaskier. For his part, Jaskier sat up and met Geralt's eyes.

"Sorry," Geralt said gruffly. "Triss said to keep you warm."

"Triss...?"

"Sorceress. She healed you. You'll like her."

"Sure," Jaskier said skeptically. "Latrine?"

Geralt frowned, then carefully extricated himself from the nest. "Triss says you should avoid walking. I can..." he trailed off and frowned. "You're not going to like this."

Jaskier sighed but motioned for him to continue.

"I can bring you a chamber pot. Or carry you to one if you want more privacy."

How is having Geralt carry him around going to instill any sense of privacy? Jaskier glanced over at the girl who was still fast asleep. "Bring it here," he said with resignation. It's not like this would be the first time Geralt had seen him piss. They didn't watch each other intentionally, but they had lived on top of one another long enough that there were no secrets between them; not when it came to their bodies and various functions, anyway.

Geralt fetched the pot and turned his back, walking several steps away as if that would make a difference. Jaskier turned his own back to the child and shuffled onto his knees. His fingers were sore and alarmingly clumsy, but he managed to open his trousers and aim into the pot.

Needs taken care of, Jaskier snuggled back into the furs though he stayed seated. Geralt collected the pot and took it away, returning after several long minutes. He stood awkwardly by the hearth, looking at Jaskier then looking away as if afraid to be caught.

"What happened to your lute?" Geralt finally asked. They had barely spoken on the journey to Kaer Morhen and Geralt hadn't pushed it but now... now Jaskier's silence was unnerving.

"Oh, you know. Didn't want to expose her to the cold," he knew Geralt could tell that he was lying but he didn't care; it wasn't any of Geralt's damn business. "This is your Child Surprise?"

"Ciri," Geralt agreed, and the girl shifted and slowly blinked her eyes open.

"Geralt," She murmured when she saw him. She stretched and rolled over, bumping into Jaskier. "Oh, and you're Jaskier, right?"

"At your service," he replied, bowing his head.

"I think it'll be the other way around," Ciri said matter-of-factly. "Triss says you shouldn't walk or use your hands for at least a few days. I will help take care of you."

Jaskier couldn't help but smile softly at Ciri's earnest expression, "Thank you."

"I had a hard time with the trail too, but it wasn't winter. Triss says you could have frozen to death. Triss says you're lucky she was here or your fingers would have-"

"That's enough, Ciri," Geralt interrupted her quickly. "Why don't you go get cleaned up and see if Vesimir needs help in the kitchen."

Ciri huffed but did as she was told.

"What was she saying about my fingers?" Jaskier flexed his hands stiffly.

"Nothing. It's not important," Geralt was approaching him again with a clay pot cradled carefully in his hands. "You're safe, and Triss says your hands will be fine as long as you rest them. May I?"

Jaskier held his hands out to Geralt, who removed the bandages and started applying the salve.

It was only then that Jaskier realized he was naked. How he had had a whole conversation with Ciri and not noticed... but then, she didn't seem to have noticed either.

"Geralt? Why am I... where are my clothes?"

"Triss said you would warm up faster if you were... undressed. I think Eskel took them to wash. I'll find out, or you could borrow mine-"

"I have more in my pack," Jaskier said quickly. Geralt was re-wrapping his hands in fresh bandages.

"Do you want me too..." Geralt gestured towards the pile of Jaskier's things against the wall by the hearth, "Or would you rather," he waved at the pot of salve.

"Might as well finish with this."

"Hmm," Geralt reached forward and Jaskier tried not to flinch when Geralt's rough fingers held his chin. He used the other hand to apply the salve to Jaskier's nose and cheeks. It only took a few moments, and when Geralt pulled away Jaskier released the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

Jaskier stared down at his bandaged hands, then at Geralt's request untangled his feet from the blankets so they could be tended.

When he was bandaged and wrapped up in blankets Geralt stood, bringing Jaskier's bags over.

"Jaskier, I'm sorry," Geralt said, opening Jaskier's bag and rooting around until he found Jaskier's worn silk trousers and a chemise that had seen better days. "Triss says you should rest your hands too. Do you want me to... or should I get one of the others to help you? Vesemir is probably in the kitchen..."

Jaskier shook his head and held up his arms so Geralt could dress him. The chemise was easy, the small-clothes and trousers were much more awkward but Geralt was as efficient at getting clothes on as taking them off so soon Jaskier was clothed and starting to feel his dignity return.

"I'm sorry," Geralt said again.

"I know," Jaskier said.

Thankfully they were interrupted by Ciri and an older man- Witcher- carrying in trays of food. They set it out on the table that was a little ways from the hearth when Ciri approached Jaskier with a bowl. "Do you want to eat here?"

"I..." Jaskier glanced at Geralt. "I'd rather eat at the table."

Geralt picked up Jaskier and placed him gently on one end of the bench, then sat himself on the far end on the opposite side, putting as much distance between the two of them as he could.

Is this what it's going to be like for the rest of the winter? Geralt guiltily taking care of him and avoiding him in equal measure? That's going to get old fast.

Ciri sat beside Jaskier and started chattering at him, not really caring if he responded or not. Soon they were joined by two more witchers, one sitting beside Geralt and the second on Ciri's other side. They had all started eating when a woman with dark, curly hair finally joined them, sitting across from Jaskier.

"It's good to see you up and about," she said, then extended her hand across the table to touch Jaskier's arm briefly. "I'm Triss Marigold. Have the boys introduced themselves yet?"

The one with short hair shoved a heaping spoonful of porridge into his mouth, while the one with huge scars on his face looked up like he'd been caught stealing sweets.

Triss sighed.

"That's Eskel. He's nice. And that's Lambert. He's an ass," Ciri said around a mouthful of stew.

"Ciri, manners," Triss said without heat. "You've only been away from court for a few months; I know you haven't forgotten how to be polite already."

Ciri swallowed noisily and with a sheepish look that left as fast as it came. "Aunt Triss, did you know Jaskier is a bard? He wrote lots of songs about Geralt and went on lots of adventures with him. Oh, Jaskier, could you sing me a song? Grandmother never liked the songs about Geralt even though everyone says they're the best."

"I think we should let Jaskier rest, Cub."

"He doesn't have his lute," Geralt added gruffly.

"What the fuck?" Lambert spoke up. "If I only know one thing about him, it's that he always had his 'damn lute.'"

"He left it behind," Geralt said quietly, as if he was telling a secret and didn't want Jaskier to know.

"Why'd you leave it behind?" Ciri asked.

"I..." Jaskier suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.

"Where did you leave it, anyway? Where were you staying before you came here?"

"Are you going back for it?" Lambert asked Geralt.

"Leave him alone," Eskel said.

They were all talking at once, one voice piling on top of another and Jaskier wanted to leave, but he wasn't supposed to walk and he felt his face going hot, eyes going wet and he cast a desperate look at Triss who raised her hands and shouted for everyone to be quiet.

"Has anyone cleared out a room for Jaskier yet?" She asked in an imperious tone and was met with silence. "Well then, finish your food and go do that. He's practically falling asleep in his seat. Even with the fires this place is still cold for humans and being cold and hurt makes them tired."

Jaskier nodded his thanks, embarrassed that he had needed help but glad he got it.

"Why don't you stay in my room for now?" Ciri asked. "You can tell me all about your adventures. I've already heard everyone else's best stories.”

"Your room is at the top of the tower," Triss chided gently. "He probably wants one closer to the kitchen so when he can walk he won't have to go far if he needs something."

"He can have my room," Eskel said quickly. "If we don't get his room ready tonight I'll sleep on the floor. Or go share with Lambert."

"Fuck off," Lambert grumbled.

"Jaskier can choose his own room when he's had a chance to rest," Eskel carried on, clearly unbothered by Lamber's rejection.

"Thank you," Jaskier said. "That sounds nice."

Eskel smiled at him and scraped up the last of his porridge. He stood and came over to where Jaskier was sitting. "Want a hand?"

"Not really," Jaskier replied wryly, "But I think I need one."

"Lucky for you I have two," Eskel bent and scooped up Jaskier, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but at least it wasn't awkwardly intimate like when Geralt carried him around bridal style so Jaskier didn't complain.

It was a short trip anyway, and Eskel set Jaskier down on the bed, just roughly enough to make Jaskier feel like less of an invalid.

"Thank you," Jaskier said, flopping backwards.

"Shall I tuck you in?" Eskel asked, a note of teasing in his voice that was softened by his kind expression.

"I suppose. I don't think I'll sleep, though, I just wanted some quiet."

"Sure," Eskel nudged Jaskier aside so he could pull the blankets free and toss them over Jaskier. "Want a book or something?"

“What do you have?”

Eskel went to his desk and rummaged about for a moment. “Alchemy or Bestiary? Sorry, that's all that's in here. I can take you to the library, or look for something for you? What are you interested in?”

“The bestiary is fine for now. But I am a master of the Seven Liberal Arts.”

“Hmm,” Eskel replied. “Yes, Geralt had mentioned that.”

“He talks about me?” Jaskier couldn't help asking. It sounded desperate- he was desperate. Maybe if Geralt spoke fondly of him in his absence...

“Not much,” He shrugged apologetically. “He talks about your songs more. I've heard most of them from other bards, but maybe when you're feeling better...”

“Sure,” Jaskier said without much conviction. _Sure, I'll sing the praises of my ex to his... friend, brother, whatever. That won't be weird at all._

Eskel gave him an appraising look, then nodded and left the room.

Jaskier looked at the book Eskel had selected. He had left it within Jaskier's reach, but he didn't take it. Triss had said he would be fine _as long as he rested_. He was unwilling to risk any damage to his hands; what if turning pages was enough to destroy his career? Not that he'd have much of a career as long as he had to stay in hiding.

Eskel returned to find Jaskier where he had left him and frowned. “Book not suit?”

Jaskier held up his bandaged hands, “I'm supposed to rest these.”

“Oh,” Eskel replied, then turned away to shuck off his dusty clothes. He changed quickly and went to leave, but hesitated. “I could read to you? I have a few minutes.”

Jaskier wanted to refuse; surely Eskel had better things to do. But he was so bored and so sad and a few moments of distraction sounded like the best thing in the world right now.

Eskel didn't reply and settled on the edge of the bed, taking up the bestiary. “Anything in particular you're interested in?”

“Griffons,” Jaskier said without really thinking.

Eskel nodded and flipped through the pages, then began to read.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Ciri learn something intriguing. Also: angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Ableist Language

Eskel hadn't been able to stay long- something about chores and work. Jaskier had nodded in understanding, he knew a keep this size surely needed constant attention when there were only a handful of people to run it.

Jaskier laid on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. There was a poem that had been fluttering around inside his head, half-formed, ever since he'd left Jaroweic.

“ _My loneliness is killing me,  
And I must confess, I still believe  
Still believe...  
That when I'm not with you I lose my mind  
Give me a sign!  
Hit me, dear heart, one more time!”_

There was a knock on the door and Geralt let himself in with an armload of books. They stared at each other awkwardly, Jaskier knowing that Geralt must have heard the poem, must know it was yet another piece about him.

“Eskel mentioned you had been reading and...” Geralt put the books down on the desk. “I found some I thought you'd like.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier said politely.

“Would you...” Geralt cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “Would you like me to read to you?”

“No, thank you,” Jaskier replied. He might be bored, but he wasn't _that_ bored.

Geralt grunted and lingered for a moment longer before he left the room, shutting the door quietly after himself.

It wasn't five minutes later that Ciri came bounding inside.

“Shhhh!” She said before diving under the bed. Moments later Lambert slammed in.

“Get back here, you little wretch!” Lambert bellowed, making Jaskier jump. “Oh. Sorry.”

“No harm done,” Jaskier choked, trying not to laugh. “Something I can help you with?”

“Trying to find Ciri,” Lambert grumbled. “She's supposed to be learning potions.”

Jaskier could have sworn he heard a giggle coming from under his bed, but Lambert didn't seem to hear anything so he must have been imagining it.

“Witcher potions? I thought those killed humans.”

Lambert shrugged and flopped onto the desk chair. “Don't ask me, Vesemir is the one who runs the place. What's all this?” He peered at the stack of books. “ _The First Witcher_? Sounds dry as hell. Eskel has the worst taste.”

“I think that's for me.”

“Hrm,” Lambert flipped the cover open and began to read.

“In the old times... blah blah blah convergence, blah blah... Before Witchers there were Slayers. Into every generation a slayer is born: one girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons and forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer.”

Lambert glanced up at Jaskier, who was staring in rapt attention. Lambert snorted, “No wonder they needed witchers if they were relying on one gi-person to keep all that under control.”

“Please keep going,” Jaskier couldn't help but beg.

Lambert shrugged, “As one can well imagine, these forces were too powerful for one girl to contain, and so the mages in their infinite wisdom-” Lambert rolled his eyes so hard Jaskier could hear them, “-took inspiration from the Slayer. They set out to create the ultimate monster hunters. Men who were bigger, stronger, faster... blah blah blah, do you really want me to keep going?”

Jaskier did but he could tell Lambert was completely incurious about his own origins.

“You should find Ciri,” Jaskier said, then added, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lambert put the book back on the stack and headed for the door. “If you see her tell her I'm gonna wring her neck.”

Several minutes after he left- long enough that even witcher hearing wouldn't detect it, Ciri crawled out from under the bed.

“Lambert says-”

“I heard him,” Ciri interrupted. “Do you think it's true? That there were girl monster fighters?”

“Could be,” Jaskier said. “Is there a reason why there aren't female witchers?”

“Something to do with the mutagens, I think,” Ciri answered, flopping on the bed beside Jaskier, casual as you please. “I heard them all fighting over whether to give them to me, but Triss won't let them.” She sounded almost disappointed.

“I think Triss is right.”

Ciri made a face, “You sound just like Geralt.”

“Do not. I know more than three words.”

“Ha!” Ciri chuckled, then got off the bed and snatched up the book. “What if I read some more? No one will be able to complain if they find me taking care of the invalid.”

“I'm not an invalid,” Jaskier argued half-heartedly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ciri said, sounding just like Lambert if a few octaves higher. She carried on reading where Lambert had left off, but it was all about how the mages experimented and refined the mutagens, how many boys were killed and maimed and so on. It was depressing and there were no more details about Slayers.

After a good half hour or more of reading Ciri put the book aside, then rooted through the pile Geralt had brought, even skimming through a couple of volumes. Ciri huffed in frustration. “I'm going to the library,” she declared and slammed out of the room.

  
  


_Geralt_

Geralt returned to deliver Jaskier's lunch (and the chamber pot) but didn't linger. Rather, he returned a little later to collect the dishes and pot. Jaskier thanked him politely and Geralt didn't say anything but his eyes did flick to the dishevelled pile of books and he let out a little pleased hum.

Geralt tried to focus. There was a hallway a little ways from Jaskier's-no, Eskel's room that needed reinforcing so he and Eskel worked on that while Lambert tried to track down Ciri. Once the hallway was repaired to their satisfaction Geralt found himself outside of Eskel's room again. He really should be clearing out a room for Jaskier. But Jaskier hadn't chosen one, so Geralt should really go inside and ask where Jaskier would like his room to be. It would be the polite thing to do. Maybe even considerate.

He knocked lightly on the door and pushed it open. Jaskier was still on the bed, though curled on his side now so he could look out the window. He was muttering to himself but not singing or reciting- thank the gods. The poem Jaskier had been reciting earlier was pretty, but a little too on the nose for Geralt's comfort.

“Jaskier?”

“Hmm?” Jaskier rolled over so he could look at Geralt.

Fuck, what was he here to say again? “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Jaskier shrugged and rolled over again so his back was to Geralt in clear dismissal.

It hurt. Geralt frowned and walked around the bed to be within Jaskier's sight again.

“What?” Jaskier asked, irritated. “Come to tell me about my shortcomings again? I know I'm weak and useless, you really don't have to waste your breath.”

“You're not-”

“I am,” Jaskier shrugged. “It's fine. Triss came by and said I should be able to walk again in a few days. Hands will take longer.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Will you stop saying that?” Jaskier snapped. “I don't think you even know what you're sorry for, what you _should_ be sorry for.”

“I'm sorry you're unhappy.”

Jaskier sighed, flopping on his back and slinging an arm over his eyes. “Yeah, great, good. Thanks for that. You can go.”

“I could stay.”

Jaskier sighed. Geralt grunted in frustration.

“It's not like I can stop you,” Jaskier said, the fight draining out of him. He turned his face away.

Geralt slid to his knees at the edge of the bed and gripped Jaskier by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “No. You can't. You can't do anything so why won't you let me do it for you? Why won't you let me help you?”

“I think you've helped enough.”

Geralt growled. He had missed Jaskier _so much_. He had left when Jaskier sent him away, thinking that maybe Jaskier would forgive him. That hadn't worked, neither had respecting his wishes on the road or in Kaer Morhen.

“No. I think you need me and I...” Geralt leaned forward. Maybe if he kissed Jaskier, maybe if he could remind him how good they had been together. Jaskier had liked the kissing, the sex. That's how this whole thing had started; if Geralt could just remind him-

“Geralt, stop.”

Geralt dropped his hand and leaned away. Turns out the bard wasn't so helpless after all.

Jaskier smiled ruefully. “I want to, you know. That was the only part of our relationship that really worked. But I'm not going to.”

 _Why not???_ Geralt wanted to shout, but he got to his feet. “I'm sorry,” he grunted again and left.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from “Hit me Baby, One More Time” by Brittany Spears.  
> First paragraph of The First Witcher is from the opening credits of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (welcome to my headcannon!).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Ciri bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for ableist language and mild self-harm (details in endnotes)

It had been three days. Three long, boring days. Lambert, Eskel and Ciri had all dropped in periodically to keep Jaskier company, and Triss checked on him regularly, but he still spent the majority of his time alone.

Geralt also came by, but only bring him things or carry him to the hall for meals, or to his room once it had been cleared out. Despite the distance and awkwardness between the pair, Geralt had insisted that Jaskier's rooms be in the tower, below Ciri's and above Geralt's. Something about Geralt wanting to be able to protect him.

Whatever.

“ _You are  
My fire,  
My one  
Desire.  
Believe when I say,  
I want it that way!”_

Jaskier belted from his bed, heedless of who could hear him. The answer was everyone on this side of the keep, but Jaskier was bored and he was infirm, and both conditions made him cranky. By this point everyone knew what had happened on the dragon hunt; his heartbreak wasn't a secret. Why should he suffer in silence?

“ _Tell me why-  
You bring nothing but heartache,  
Tell me why-  
We were nothing but a mistake,  
Tell me why-”_

Jaskier was cut off as Ciri slammed into the room, Triss on her heels. “We get it, you're sad,” Ciri huffed. “Can he please get out of bed now?”

“Jaskier?” Triss asked and Jaskier kicked off the blankets so Triss could examine his feet. Again. “One more day.”

“Ugggh,” Ciri sighed in the put upon way that only teenagers could manage.

“You sound like you're the one who's lame,” Jaskier griped at her.

“I may not be lame, but my _entire family_ was murdered and you don't hear me whining about it.”

“Here we go,” Triss muttered, quickly applying salve to Jaskier's feet and hands before hurrying out of the room.

“You don't whine about it, you use it to win every single argument that comes up, you Machiavellian wench!”

“I'm telling Geralt you're being mean to me again!”

“Go ahead. What's he going to do? Freeze my fingers off? Break my heart again?”

“Geralt says you get your heartbroken all the time. Do you always moan about it for weeks?”

“I haven't even been here for one week!”

Ciri rolled her eyes and Jaskier glared at her. They faced off for several long minutes before Ciri finally dropped her gaze.

“Could you sing the one about-”

“Have you learned anything more about slayers-”

They spoke at the same time and both chuckled.

“I haven't.”

“What would you like to hear?”

A sly look overtook Ciri's face, “Toss a coin?”

“Your wish is my command.”

  
  


_Geralt_

If there was anything worse than listening to Jaskier sing about how Geralt had broken his heart, it was listening to Jaskier _and_ Ciri (the traitor) singing the most annoying songs they could think of. They acted like siblings. Bratty, spoiled siblings.

Geralt could always go to a different part of the keep, it was big enough and sound could only travel so far. But he couldn't bear to have Jaskier out of earshot in case- well, it's not like anything could happen to him here, but still. And when Jaskier and Ciri were together it would take a lot more than an annoying tune or two to chase Geralt off his self-appointed post as their bodyguard.

So he sat. He sat in his room at the base of the tower and repaired armour. His, Eskel's, and Lambert's. The other witchers had tried to prise Geralt from his position, but when they realized that wasn't going to happen they had tossed all the mending his way and left him to it. Normally Geralt preferred to work with his brothers at completing the days' chores, but...

“ _Unbreak my heart,  
Say you'll love me again  
Undo this hurt you caused when you walked out the door  
And walked out of my life...”_

Fuck.

  
  


_Ciri_

It was weird. Jaskier was old- he was starting to go grey and the wrinkles by his eyes and mouth were not exactly trivial. He looked much older than all the other witchers, except for Vesemir. But Ciri knew he was the second youngest person in the keep, and the only other human.

Gods, it was good to have another human around. Geralt was all _hmms_ and grunts and Triss always looked sad, especially after another failed spell at locating some sorceress friend of hers. Eskel was the nicest, though he was quiet and while Lambert was loud he was so, so loud. And Vesemir was strict but at the same time fell asleep a lot. Boring.

Jaskier knew how to behave. He would laugh and joke and bicker. No one else ever teased her, and she wasn't sure if they were trying to protect her or just didn't know how. Jaskier knew how, and he knew how to bug Geralt and even better, he wasn't afraid to. Jaskier knew how to bug _everyone_ and Ciri couldn't wait until he was allowed out of bed. They would have such fun together! They would ransack the library to find anything they could about Slayers, or even the rare (but present!) female witchers. She would also show Jaskier the small section of dirty novels that she had discovered. He'd like that.

In the meantime, she spent a great deal of time going through the unused rooms and storage boxes for an instrument. Jaskier had said he left his lute behind, but was uncharacteristically reticent when it came to the details. Ciri didn't press, and instead focused on finding him another instrument. She had even plucked up her courage to ask Geralt about it, but he had just grunted at her.

Typical.

She asked Eskel about it too and he had at least looked like he was considering it, but in the end he said the pass was closed and it would be inadvisable to leave.

That only left one option.

Ciri did her best to pay attention to one of Vesimir's long, rambling stories and even asked questions to keep him awake until he had finished. Sufficiently buttered up, Ciri admired his whittling skill until he agreed to show her how to do it.

  
  


_Geralt_

It was two days later. Ciri had been suspiciously quiet and absent and though the witchers would never admit it, they were on edge. To compound the issue, Jaskier was finally allowed out of bed. While he still spent a lot of time in his room, he had also taken to drifting around the castle, singing sadly like some kind of lovelorn ghost.

“Can't you do something about him?” Lambert griped after Jaskier had wafted through the great hall.

“Hmm,” Geralt frowned, still looking at his hand of cards and trying to figure out how to not get his butt kicked.

“You should talk to him,” Eskel piped up. Geralt hadn't even realized he was paying attention.

“Talk?” Lambert grunted. “What's there left to talk about? Geralt should grab that little twink, shove him against a wall and-”

“Isn't sex what got them into this mess in the first place?” Eskel interrupted.

“And it's what'll get them out of it,” Lambert retorted.

Geralt collected his cards and stood. They clearly didn't need him for this conversation.

“ _...I shouldn't have let you go,_  
I must confess, that my loneliness is killing me now  
Don't you know I still believe...”

“Jaskier!” Ciri burst into the room, startling the newly arrived bard into silence. She brandished something at Jaskier, who looked at her a little dumbly before accepting the object.

“It's a flute,” Ciri said proudly. “I made it for you. I tried to make a lute but it's too big and I couldn't find enough wood... ooph.”

Jaskier had grabbed Ciri into a fierce hug, holding her for far too long. The witchers all turned away, pretending not to notice the few tears that slid down Jaskier's cheeks.

“You darling girl,” Jaskier said, voice muffled in Ciri's tangled hair. “Thank you. Thank you.”

After a few long moments, Jaskier finally loosened his grip on Ciri to examine the flute. He plopped on the floor where he stood and blew experimentally into the instrument. It whistled a little, and he fit his fingers over the holes and tried again. The pitch changed slightly as he moved his fingers, but even Geralt could tell that it wasn't right. The space... intervals? Between the notes were inconsistent, and the sound it produced was reedy and weak. Still, Jaskier's eyes glowed in a way that Geralt hadn't seen for Gods... a year? Not even? It felt like decades.

After listening to Jaskier play with the flute for a few minutes, Ciri seemed to droop. “It's not very good, is it?” She asked.

Jaskier stopped playing and beckoned Ciri over until she was sitting before him

“It's a lovely gift,” Jaskier told her, cradling the rough flute in his hands. “It means the world that you would go to all this work for me. It's true, it doesn't play well. But it's perfect all the same.”

Now Ciri's eyes were wet too, and maybe even Eskel's. Geralt and Lambert definitely weren't moved, not at all. They were avoiding each other's eyes for completely unrelated reasons.

Geralt slipped from the room and irrational anger started to bubble up inside of him. When had Jaskier and Ciri gotten so close? Why hadn't he thought of acquiring a new instrument for Jaskier? Do Jaskier and Ciri even need him, since they have each other? Will Geralt ever feel close to anyone again?

Geralt found himself in his room. His room at the base of the tower where Jaskier and Ciri stayed. His room, close to his charges that didn't even need him, didn't want him. Geralt turned and left, heading for the training yard. Maybe if he hit something he would feel better. He could go through the gauntlet, maybe take a few hits himself. Let the focus of training, the physical pain distract him from his inner turmoil.

It was bitterly cold out and growing dark already. Geralt hadn't bothered with armour or a cloak, and he stood outside, letting the air numb him inside and out. He was just making his way to the controls for the gauntlet when Vesemir's voice stopped him.

“What are you doing, Geralt?”

“Training,” Geralt grunted, continuing toward the ancient mechanism.

“Get back inside before you hurt yourself,” Vesemir sounded tired.

Geralt wanted to refuse, but one didn't just ignore the oldest Witcher. He turned slowly and Vesemir lead the way back into the keep.

“I...” Geralt trailed off, not sure what he was trying to say.

“You should listen to your brothers,” Vesemir said gruffly. “They're both idiots, but they're not completely wrong.”

Geralt opened his mouth to speak but Vesemir forged ahead. “In the old days I would have told you to let the humans bond with each other, to stay out of it. But things have changed, and... we need each other. If you can find... happiness with them, you should.”

Geralt stared at Vesemir, who was carefully examining a wall. “But...”

“And for Melitele's sake, get the bard to stop singing constantly.”

A smile tugged at Geralt's lips despite himself, “I tried for 20 years. It's never going to happen.”

Vesemir sighed in an exaggerated sort of way and clapped Geralt on the shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: Ableist language: Jaskier refers to himself as “lame” due to his frostbite injuries. Self-harm: Geralt decides to train, hoping that earning some physical pain will distract him from his emotional pain. 
> 
> Lyrics adapted from “I Want it That Way” by the Backstreet Boys and “Unbreak my Heart” by Toni Braxton, with another few lines from Brittany.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disaster brings everyone together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Underaged alcohol consumption

_Geralt_

The very ground was shaking. It had started as a minor vibration, as if there was an avalanche on the next mountain over. But the vibration had increased and with it came a noise like thunder and then the entire keep was shaking and Geralt was forced to get down, taking shelter under the sturdy kitchen table along with Vesemir.

“Avalanche?” He demanded.

Vesemir shook his head, face pale. “No, listen.”

Geralt did, paying careful attention to the receding sound. Rocks scraping, wood splintering... glass breaking?

“The keep. The... the tower.” Geralt was out from under the table and charging in the direction of the tower where he, Ciri and Jaskier had their rooms. The rumbling had stopped but new noises, ones shaped like the names of his charges, echoed down the halls. Geralt was forced to stop by piles of debris and he frantically dug through the mess with his bare hands.

“Geralt, stop!” Vesemir had caught up to him and was attempting to restrain the younger Witcher. “You'll bring the rest of the keep down on us! STOP!”

Geralt obeyed, sagging back against Vesemir and he dragged Geralt away. He was dimly aware of footfalls approaching.

“What the fuck?” Lambert swore as Eskel, approaching from a different direction, demanded to know if anyone was hurt.

“Jaskier, Ciri,” Geralt gasped, shaking and nauseous. He forced himself upright. “Where-”

“I saw them in the library-”

Geralt took off running, nearly bowling over the two humans as he rounded a corner. He grabbed them up, Ciri in his right arm and Jaskier in his left, and held them tight. His breath staggered and his heartbeat wildly, but as he held them, his precious, delicate humans, he started to calm.

“Shhh, we're all right. We're all right. What happened?” Jaskier's soft voice broke through Geralt's fog.

“The tower fell,” Geralt rasped, burying his face alternately in Jaskier's neck and Ciri's hair.

“And you thought we were in it?” Ciri sounded a little breathless and Geralt finally forced himself to loosen his grip, but only a little.

“I made you sleep there. I... if... it would have been my fault. You're always in there, reading and singing. I thought...”

Jaskier sighed, then started to gently wiggle free. “As you can see we are both just fine. What of the rest of the keep? Is it safe?”

Geralt grunted, trying to grab Jaskier back.

“Geralt, stop.”

He stopped and turned his focus to holding Ciri, but now she was wriggling away as well. Geralt felt bereft without them but forced himself to let them go. He never should have brought them here. He'd meant to keep them safe, but Jaskier nearly died trying to get here, and they both could have been killed today. He was such a fool, so arrogant. He should have...

“Oh, thank the Gods,” Eskel sighed, distracting Geralt from his dark thoughts. “Come on, Geralt, we have to assess the rest of the keep.”

“But...” he didn't want to leave his humans. He had to stay where he could protect them.

“They'll be fine,” Eskel said in a low voice, gripping Geralt's arm and all but dragging him away. “Go back to the library, you two. We'll fetch you when it's safe.”

“Eskel...” Geralt trailed off as Eskel continued to manhandle him down the hallway.

“Focus, Geralt,” Eskel said, not unkindly. “The best thing you can do for them right now is to make sure the rest of the keep stays standing. We need your help.”

Geralt nodded miserably and followed.

  
  


_Jaskier_

Jaskier paced. He paced and he fretted- not about the keep, mind, that would make far too much sense. No, he couldn't stop thinking how godsdamned _good_ it had felt when Geralt held him close. Seeing Geralt panicking over the thought of Jaskier getting hurt, feeling safe in Geralt's massive arms...

Fuck, all he wanted to do was lay himself out for Geralt, give the man everything he wanted. Jaskier wanted to feel that safety again, that strength.

But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't. He wasn't quite able to remember why, at the moment, but he knew there was a good reason why getting entangled with Geralt again would be a bad idea.

“They'll be fine,” Ciri said, breaking Jaskier's caravan of thoughts.

“Hmm?” He replied.

“Geralt and the others. They'll patch everything up and be fine. They'll probably clear it all up and might even find some of our things.”

Jaskier hadn't even thought about the fact that all of his possessions, including the flute Ciri had made him, were now under a pile of rubble. “Fuck. Did you have anything important up there?”

Ciri shrugged and picked at a loose thread on her worn sleeve. Jaskier wanted to swear again, this time at himself. Here he was, angsting away over an emotionally constipated asshole when there was a child who had just lost everything. Again.

Jaskier sighed and sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “It's just stuff. It can be replaced.”

“When? In the spring? Eskel said the paths are closed and I don't want to wear the same grotty old clothes for another three months.”

“I agree with you there, princess. At least our cloaks are in the mudroom, so we can still go outside without freezing our balls-eyeballs off,” he quickly corrected himself and Ciri giggled wetly.

“Do you think the kitchen was affected?”

“I don't know. But Geralt asked us to stay here and for once I'm inclined to agree. Are you hungry?”

Ciri nodded morosely. “It's fine. I ate at breakfast.”

Jaskier got up from the ancient couch and headed for the corner where Vesemir usually sat. After rifling through his things for several minutes, Jaskier emerged with a half-empty jar of pickles and a bottle of something he hoped was alcohol.

“Vesemir will throw a fit when he finds out you went through his things.”

“Vesemir can kiss my ass,” Jaskier retorted. “They can't expect us to stay up here indefinitely with no food.” He uncorked the bottle and sniffed it hesitantly. It smelled the same as the paint-thinner that had been passed around most nights after supper. It was strong, foul but not immediately toxic to humans so he took a swig, catching himself when he was about to pass it to Ciri.

“Guess we'll have to find you something else to drink,” Jaskier went back to Vesemir's area, carefully poking, prodding and tapping his way around the desk while Ciri crunched on pickles. He found a handful of crackers, a jar of some kind of fruit preserve, and a few strips of jerky.

“I think this is it,” Jaskier said, returning to the couch and opening the jar of preserves, popping the fruit (strawberry?) into his mouth. “Oh! Oh, that's nice. Here,” he held the jar out to Ciri, who took one. Her nose wrinkled a little, but she took another one all the same.

“Brandy,” she said thoughtfully.

“Ah, should have known you'd had the good stuff before.”

Ciri nodded but didn't elaborate. She and Jaskier bickered over who was hogging the strawberries and when the fruit was gone they fought over who got to drink the syrupy liqueur that was left behind. Ciri managed to snatch enough to get giggly, while Jaskier was on his way to proper drunk with the help of the bottle of stuff he refused to let Ciri touch.

When Geralt finally came to get them, he found the two humans tangled together while Jaskier read a pornographic novel to Ciri, who was laughing uproariously at the various euphemisms and metaphors Jaskier was using to sensor the worst of the smut. At least, Geralt assumed those terrible turns of phrase were Jaskier's invention and not the author's.

“Jaskier, shut up,” Ciri cuffed him and Jaskier dropped the book. He gasped dramatically in offence. “Geralt's back!”

“Geralt can kiss my ass too,” Jaskier mumbled. Ciri giggled.

“Are you... is Ciri _drunk?!”_ Geralt demanded.

“Oh, relax,” Ciri flapped her hand dismissively at Geralt. “Princesses get drunk all the time.”

“You're only 13,” Geralt protested.

“I'm 14, I'll have you know,” Ciri corrected.

Geralt looked to Jaskier for help, but the bard just shrugged. “It's not my fault Vesemir didn't have any child-appropriate snacks in here.”

“You stole... Vesemir's snacks?”

“Yup!” Jaskier said brightly.

“You're not going to tell him, are you?” Ciri asked, suddenly serious.

“Vesemir used to make us run laps around the wall if he found any of us eating in here,” Geralt said thoughtfully. “I won't tell him, but if he tries to give you grief remind him that food attracts mice and mice destroy manuscripts.”

“So really, we were doing you all a favour,” Jaskier offered.

“I'm not sure if reading erotica to a drunken child could be considered a favour,” Geralt countered. “Now come on, we're having supper in the hall. It survived and seems sound enough.”

Ciri staggered to her feet and took Geralt's arm. He hid his surprise- Ciri rarely touched him on her own accord. Then Jaskier took his other arm and he couldn't help- no, he didn't gasp, dammit, just a light huff. Jaskier was too drunk to notice anyway, and Geralt focused on keeping the pair from running into anything or tripping on the way to the hall.

“Sit,” he ordered gruffly, pushing the humans onto a bench.

Vesemir appeared, carrying a steaming pot of stew and he raised his eyebrows at the pair. Geralt shrugged and sat himself beside Ciri when he saw that the table had already been set.

They ate quietly. Well, the witchers were quiet. Jaskier and Ciri bickered, and Triss was nowhere to be seen.

As the meal drew to a close the bickering subsided and Ciri slumped mournfully against Geralt's shoulder. Jaskier, in turn, leaned against her and Geralt bore the brunt of both of their weight without complaint.

Lambert and Eskel cleared the supper things, leaving Geralt to hold up the humans. Soon Ciri was sniffling and Geralt didn't know what to do so he just sat there while Jaskier shushed her and cuddled closer.

“I don't want to sleep on the floor,” she finally wailed. “I want a bed, and I want gowns, and I want to eat something besides stew!”

“You got to eat all those strawberries,” Jaskier offered.

“You don't have to sleep on the floor,” Geralt said gruffly. “Eskel or Lambert will let you have their bed until we can figure this out.”

“And what about you?” Ciri demanded, glaring up at Geralt. “Your room is gone too, and all of your things.”

“They're just things,” Geralt shrugged. “My swords and armour are in the armoury. I don't need anything else.”

Ciri huffed. Jaskier sighed.

“When the pass opens,” Geralt started, but that just caused Ciri to wail again. Geralt fell silent, unsure of what to do.

Jaskier hushed and shushed, but his eyes were wet too.

“Time for bed,” Vesemir declared, poking his head in the room. “You three can have Eskel's room, he and Lambert will share.

Geralt sighed in relief and hoisted Ciri from the bench. He dragged her towards the door, and Jaskier shuffled after them. They followed the familiar path to Eskel's room, where Ciri and Jaskier flopped onto the bed. Ciri, for her part, fell asleep almost immediately. Jaskier was still awake and snuggled under the blankets and furs, not bothering to undress.

“At least take your boots off,” Geralt grumbled, building up the fire. If he was going to sleep on the floor he wanted some warmth, dammit.

“Always trying to get me out of my clothes,” Jaskier huffed, sticking his feet up in the air so he could pull off his boots. He struggled, tangled in the blankets, but Geralt didn't help him. When the boots finally hit the floor Jaskier burrowed into the nest of blankets with a sigh. “Aren't you going to sleep?”

“I'll sleep here. Or meditate.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “If you want to freeze go ahead. There is room in here for you.”

Geralt grunted, unsure. Both humans had been more tactile tonight than they had been since they got here, but they were drunk. When they woke up, sober and possibly hungover, would they be happy to find him in their bed? Probably not.

“Suit yourself,” Jaskier muttered. He pulled a blanket over his head so only his nose and a few strands of hair poked out and pretended to sleep. Geralt settled onto the rug in front of the hearth, prepared to meditate the night away since he doubted he'd be able to rest properly.

“I miss you,” Jaskier mumbled, barely audible.

“I... me too.” Geralt replied.

Jaskier snored.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier receives a gift

_Jaskier_

The witchers and Triss were working dawn til dusk, day in and day out, trying to reinforce and repair what remained of the keep. This left Jaskier and Ciri to amuse themselves. Ciri trained a little on her own, and Jaskier tried to encourage her but for all he had enjoyed watching Geralt in action, he was shit with technique. The daily chores also fell to them: cooking, cleaning, tending the animals and so on.

“Where'd you learn to cook?” Ciri asked critically after tasting that night's stew.

“On the road... from Geralt. You have complaints, take it up with him.”

“I knew this lack of flavour was familiar,” Ciri muttered. “Where do you think they keep the spices?”

“Same place they keep the unicorns,” Jaskier replied and when Ciri looked at him with raised eyebrows and the slightest bit of hope colouring her eyes, Jaskier sighed. “There aren't any,” he explained.

Ciri looked away, obviously trying to hide her disappointment.

“Sorry,” Jaskier muttered.

“Hrmph,” Ciri sighed and started opening cupboards. She had done this dozens of times, but Jaskier left her to it. The stew was as good as it was going to get so there was nothing to do but make sure it didn't burn while they waited for the work crew to return.

“...Too fucking cold.” Lambert's snarl echoed down the hallway.

“Fine,” Eskel sighed. “I'll go.”

The group passed by the kitchen on their way to the hall, and Jaskier hurried to lift the stew pot while Ciri fetched a pitcher of ale. The humans trailed after the witchers, eavesdropping fiercely.

“We can wait until spring,” Vesemir insisted. “We still have all the supplies we need.”

“We might, but they don't,” Eskel insisted and Geralt grunted in agreement.

“I'll go with you,” Geralt said.

“You will not,” Eskel snapped uncharacteristically. “You dragged Ciri _and_ Jaskier up this damn mountain, you can stay here and take care of them.”

“You sound like they're puppies. They can take care of themselves,” Geralt huffed.

“So can I,” Eskel shot back before softening his voice. “You made it up the pass, with a human, during midwinter. I can make it alone and carry enough back to tide them over.”

None of the witchers had seemed to notice that the puppies in question were in earshot; they were too busy quarrelling. Triss glanced over at them and shrugged but didn't involve herself in the argument.

“What's going on?” Ciri interjected impatiently.

“Someone has to go down the mountain,” Geralt said, raising his hand to cut off Vesemir's objection. “A storeroom was taken out. Besides, you and Jaskier lost all of your things.”

“So did you,” Ciri pointed out and Geralt shrugged. “I still have my swords and my horse. But you need... we need supplies.”

“Why doesn't Triss just portal you down?” Ciri asked.

Triss smiled wryly, “Portals were never my specialty, and at any rate I'm too tapped out to try.”

“She's been magicking up vines and shit to hold this wreck together. Fucking creepy,” Lambert said between bites of stew.

“I could-” Ciri stared.

“NO,” came the unanimous response.

Ciri huffed.

“It won't take long,” Eskel insisted. “And you can use my room while I'm away.”

They had been using his room anyway since no one really had time to clear out any of the other rooms for human use.

“When are you going?” Ciri asked. “Can you bring back spices?”

“I'll leave tomorrow morning. I'll try, pup, but even if I can find them we're not exactly rolling in coin here.”

Ciri nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. Again. Poor girl, Jaskier thought.

“I have some coin,” he said. “In my room... oh.” Ciri patted his knee sympathetically. “I could go down with you, Eskel? I could sing-”

“NO,” even Ciri joined in on that one.

“Fine,” Jaskier grumbled. “But is there some parchment I can use? I'd like to send a letter.”

“Of course,” Vesemir said. “Just be careful of what you write.”

“Yes, of course. I didn't come all this way tell Nilfgaard where we are. I just want to tell some... friends I'm all right.”

They finished the meal in silence. Jaskier and Ciri took care of cleaning up and Eskel went to pack. Everyone else went back to working on repairs.

  
  


***

  
  


Things weren't that different without Eskel. Jaskier missed his even temper and kind words at meals, but since everyone just scarfed down their food and went right back to work it didn't make that much of a difference.

True to his word, Eskel returned quickly. There were no blizzards or storms to slow him down, so he returned a week after he left. He came into the hall, shaking snow off of his shoulders and dropping several heavy bags on the floor.

“Here,” he shoved the last and lightest parcel at Geralt who looked at Eskel questioningly.

Jaskier glanced over curiously; he hadn't heard Geralt make any special requests.

“Not now,” Eskel hissed when Geralt moved to unwrap the parcel. Geralt stopped, confused but obedient.

Eskel took a moment to warm his hands at the hearth, then started going through packages.

A bolt of undyed wool, a sack of grain and another of beans. Binding agents for mortar as well as some other supplies needed for repairs. Last of all, a small, paper pouch that he passed to Ciri. She opened it up carefully and her face lit up. She barely had time to put it down before flinging her arms around Eskel. Jaskier took the pouch and sniffed carefully. Pepper. Only enough for a few meals, but he could barely wait to taste something besides salt and oil.

Gifts distributed, Eskel sat at the table and Ciri ladled out a generous portion of stew for him. Everyone's spirit was up, and Vesemir even produced a jar of brandied strawberries to share.

The evening devolved from there. Lambert and Eskel ended up in a wrestling match while Vesemir and Ciri cheered them on. Jaskier cleared the table- he wanted to stay and enjoy the spectacle, but the dishes would take twice as long to clean in the morning. He took everything to the kitchen, humming to himself while he heated water.

“Jaskier.”

He jumped in surprise, but definitely did not squeak in alarm.

“Need to put a bell on you,” he said, not for the first time.

Geralt stood in the doorway. He took a hesitant step forward, then extended his hand. He was holding an instrument.

“What's this?” Jaskier froze, staring.

“It's for you. I don't know why Eskel gave it to me.”

Jaskier took the instrument with slightly shaking hands. He felt warm. His cheeks felt sore and it took him a moment to realize it was because he was smiling. Smiling bigger and warmer than he had in months and crying in happiness. He looked up to see Geralt staring at him.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said and stepped forward. “Thank you,” he wrapped his arms around Geralt who, haltingly, returned the embrace.

Jaskier let himself sink into the solid warmth of his witcher, eyes squeezed shut.

Gods, he just... just another moment. Another minute. Geralt hummed comfortingly and soon there was a big hand cradling the back of Jaskier's head and he never wanted to move again.

  
  


***

  
  


_Geralt_

They stood together in the kitchen for at once an eternity and not nearly long enough. Jaskier was a warm weight in his arms, his smell like a favourite blanket. He smelled _happy_.

Part of Geralt wanted to protest- he had had nothing to do with this. It wasn't his idea or even his coin. The credit went to Eskel, and maybe Ciri. But it was Geralt who was receiving the hug, and Geralt who, for once in his life, was going to be selfish. He was going to enjoy this.

Finally, Jaskier pulled away, sniffling a little and scrubbing his face.

“I'll finish the dishes,” Geralt said and Jaskier turned that brilliant smile on him for a moment before flitting out of the kitchen. As Geralt washed, he could hear the distinct pinging of strings being tuned.

Geralt emerged from the kitchen to find Jaskier near the hearth, still carefully tuning the lute. It didn't sound nearly as nice as the old one, but even Geralt could see the neck was slightly warped and there was a fine crack in the body.

“Well, that's as good as it's going to get,” Jaskier announced.

“Play for us!” Ciri begged. “I don't care if it's out of tune, I want to hear a song!”

“My wish is your command!” He gestured grandly, eyes sparkling and unable to contain his huge smile. “Requests?”

Ciri shook her head.

Jaskier picked at the strings a few moments longer before he started playing in earnest.

“ _Without you, I'm stronger, I'm no longer  
Filled with wonder  
How wrong you were...”_

Geralt glanced around the small audience, a little nervous. He hadn't heard this song before and he was afraid it was another heartbreak song. It's not like it was a secret, but singing sadly to himself was one thing and performing in front of what amounted to Geralt's family was quite another.

“ _...so one last time love, come and rip my clothes off  
Get a grip, we're grownups...”_

Gods, why did he have to bring up bedsport every chance he got?

“ _...Let's hide under the covers  
We don't know what's out there  
Could be wolves  
So hold me, lover, like you used to  
So tight I'd bruise you  
I'd bruise you, I'd bruise you too...”_

Wait. This... this wasn't a breakup song. It wasn't a heartache song. It was... it sounded like an invitation?

“ _Every stone you threw, I stood on to better see the view  
I've got something in my...  
I surrender what was, what could have been  
All those wonders sit in wait for us, we tried  
Try please try for me,  
Don't you ever wonder, what could have been?  
All those wonders sit in wait for us, we tried...”_

Geralt internally shook himself. No. No way could Jaskier be saying what Geralt thought he was saying. He listened carefully to the rest of the song, but he wasn't good at this. He wasn't good at parsing meaning from metaphors and Jaskier knew this, he knew it. He couldn't expect Geralt to understand this type of message, could he?

“ _Come rest for the winter, wear my jumper all night long  
Those songs we sung, those words we flung  
For fear of sound  
All those books that we both drowned  
And the candle we lit, well we'll use it to burn this whole place to the ground  
I'm lost  
I'm found  
In you...”  
_  
  


Jaskier carried on, repeated the chorus a few times and then finished with a bow.

Everyone clapped and Ciri whooped in encouragement. Jaskier winked at Geralt.

Fuck.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Wild Blue Yonder by The Amazing Devi. It's meant to be a duet but uhh... artistic license?


	6. Chapter 6

_Geralt_

“Geralt! Wait up!” Jaskier jogged down the hall to catch up with the witcher. “Don't think you can just slink off without me noticing. What do you think? Three words or less?”

“Come back.”

“What?” Jaskier skidded to a halt in front of Geralt. They were standing in front of the door to Geralt's new room.

“If I'm good, will you come back?”

Jaskier's face softened and he laid one hand on Geralt's arm. “Geralt, you are good. You're a good man. You know that, right?”

Geralt stared carefully at the floor. Finally, he met Jaskier's eyes. “I want to be good for you.”

Jaskier squeezed Geralt's arm and opened to door, ushering them both inside.

They stood awkwardly, and Geralt busied himself closing the door and stirring up the fire. Jaskier stood quietly out of the way watching thoughtfully.

When Geralt ran out of distractions, he turned around to meet Jaskier's gaze. He tried to think of something to say but it was Jaskier who finally broke the silence.

“I want you to be good for me too.”

Geralt nodded eagerly and opened his mouth but Jaskier cut him off.

“You have to stop with the hurtful things, Geralt. You don't have to coddle me, but... just don't be mean, okay?”

“I promise,” the words slipped from Geralt's lips. “I know it was... cruel. Unfair. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything.”

Slowly, Geralt stepped forward, then knelt at Jaskier's feet and bowed his head. He hoped Jaskier understood what Geralt meant; though he doubted it. Geralt wasn't even sure what he was saying.

When Geralt felt Jaskier's hands in his hair he leaned his head against Jaskier's leg and let out a contented sigh. “I won't hurt you again.”

“I wouldn't go that far,” Jaskier attempted to joke. “You can hurt me, just only in ways we agree on.”

“I missed your singing.” Geralt admitted. “I should never have mocked you for it.”

“I know. Thank you.” Jaskier tugged lightly on Geralt's hair, so he stood. Jaskier grasped Geralt's elbows and lead him to the bed. Geralt's heart leapt but he didn't dare hope. Even as Jaskier gently pushed him down, Geralt didn't really believe it was happening. It wasn't until Jaskier shrugged out of his doublet and snuggled up beside Geralt that it hit him.

Jaskier was giving him another chance.

Geralt hugged him tightly and promised himself that this time, he would be worthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. I hope this is a satisfactory ending.


End file.
